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This took a lot longer than I thought it would! And my original picture didn't look right, so I did this instead! I just hope this looks good! 

Now then! 

To your corners! 

Hello again, diary.

I could say it’s been a while, but I think we both know how quick this entry was written compared to the prior one. And because of the insanity of unpacking and moving into this town, a distraction was sincerely needed.

I guess I should explain what in Luna’s name I’m doing here. 

I’ll try to condense the story as quickly and easily as possible.

As I said before, I’m the only unicorn in a family of earth ponies. I have unicorn relatives, but earth pony parents. Therefore, I was often giving off magic bursts. As a baby, according to my mom, I would often turn things different colors and randomly “wink” in and out.

I got the term from my Grandma Cobalt. “Winking” used to be what everypony called teleporting. Or turning invisible. Either or. Kind of cute.

My grandma Cobalt was actually the one who often taught me spells and how to control my magic as I got older. She encouraged me to use magic when I could. And apparently, a lot of it came naturally. Levitation, writing, winking - the basics were already easy. 

She taught me a few other spells, but my parents weren’t fond of my use of them. Don’t blame them. 

My sisters, as infants, often enjoyed me levitating them and giving them little rides in the air. Hearing them laugh was just adorable . . . Bell loves it a lot as a baby. 

She still loves it, to be honest. Says it feels natural. 

As they got older, they kept asking me to perform magic for them and their friends. Mostly giving minor light shows, or turning cloth into toys and animal facsimiles. 

When I wasn’t helping around the homestead or watching my sisters, I was researching: reading and cultivating knowledge, writing and recording it, and performing spells that I often read or heard of. I combined them with Grandma Cobalt’s spells. To see if they’d ease them a bit. 

And I was half right. 

As I got older, my magic skill and knowledge were at the point where my parents saw my potential. Staying in Appaloosa would only have held me back. They immediately sent for, and filled out, the paperwork for me to enroll in a prestigious school in Canterlot. Not Celestia’s School for Gifted and Talented Unicorns. 

A different place. 

And, I was happy regardless. 

Leaving Appaloosa for the first time was not really overwhelming. Sure I missed my family, but it felt nice to not have several voices in my ears. No dirt that got stuck in my hooves. No sand in my eyes. Just students like myself who understood the finer points of education and magical prowess. I did find ponies who shared my interests.

A lot of my interests.

But, I kept most of my time close to my spells and my books. And a developing passion I had for the arts. Drawing felt natural to me. And I did get some stares when I said I could do it without magic. Didn’t let that get to me, though. Just kept at it. 

After graduating the school, and rereading the notebooks I had accumulated over the course of several years, I realized a few things:

1) I was a studious unicorn who would easily have been mistaken as a hoarder, seeing as I kept notebooks from even the inane classes during school.

2) My research was always focused on several branches but always focused on one central genre and subject. Sure it diverged, but often times, it would come right back to the same subject. And I was, oddly, okay with that.

3) Telling somepony this stuff in full detail right off the bat would, for lack of better words, make them freak the fuck out. 

So, I decided to take a logical course of action.

I packed my things, kept my notebooks, and moved to what I considered be the perfect place for research and further development of my spells.

Ponyville.

I’ve gotten a lot of flack from my parents about this decision, but deep down, they do support me. Somewhere deep down.

I just know I can find what I’m looking for here. 

And in the process, I can even develop my knowledge. 

Maybe, make a friend. 

. . . 

Oh wow, I wish I had some crackers because that was the cheesiest thing I’ve ever written. AS if making friends will allow me the chance to develop my magic. Develop my knowledge, of course. 

. . . oh whatever. It’s late now.

Unpacking can wait after sleep. 

Do entertain yourself, dear diary. We can speak again later.

Until then,

Dear Diary, Welp, finally did it. Decided to start a diary. For the sake of improving my writing. Just as my professor said I should be doing. . . . To be honest, I don't like keeping up with these things. I prefer to write ongoing study packets and papers than write down what I feel. Sure it helps the process but I already do a stream of consciousness in real life when I speak. Why waste my time writing it down when I can just talk about what I'm feeling? Plus, I hate daily commitments like this. Having to come back day in, day out, and try to one-up yourself with the events of the current day? Not my thing.

But, I’m doing this for writing purposes, and because my degrees and research call for it, so, might as well find something in this to enjoy. . . . Guess I should introduce myself then? Kind of awkward, since I'm writing this in a book that only I'll look at. But, semantics. Not much to say about me physically, honestly. I'm a unicorn from Appaloosa. My coat color came from my mom, and my mane and tail came from my dad. It's an interesting mix, apparently, because ponies in Canterlot asked me if I came from Las Pegasus or Vanhoover. No idea why. Aqua and dark blue must be common there. Although I do have to stress to ponies several times that the purple in my mane is natural. That's how I was born. No freak magic incident, no insane cursed object - just, genetics. Same with my beauty mark. But that's another headache of misunderstanding all on its own. Back to business. My mother? 

Strongest mare you will ever meet. 

Brazen Core is no pony you would want to mess with. If you get her mad, then Celestia have mercy on you. She once galloped two days to get medicine for my grandma from Ponyville because of a train delay, and never once complained about her hoof aches. This is a mare who single-hoofedly planted and plowed three fields of carrots in one day, all while carrying two of my sisters. Then, she scared off a group of renegade buffalo, just by stomping her hoof! Then again, if I were a young buffalo buck and saw a mare with two fillies to her sides, a sharp plow, and red, dried eyes, I'd head for the hills, too. My father works just as hard as my mother to maintain our home and the postal system in Appaloosa. He acts like he doesn't like or care about parcel management, but he does enjoy it. He also hates it when ponies call him the “male mare”. With a name like Pink Postal, hard not to. He said he was named after a band. I never saw it. 

But I’m probably more on the same mental level as him. We’re both intelligent ponies, rarely share emotions . . .  

We also share the same sense of humor, much to my mother’s chagrin. Every time she sees us laughing all she can do is sigh and wonder where I got it from.

So.

I lived with them and my five sisters in Appaloosa for as long as I could remember.

This is the part where ponies start to ask the real questions, so I’ll just make this quick. Yes, there are significant age differences between us, yes, we’re all related despite our mane and coat colorings, and yes, my father IS outnumbered. 

My first sister, Cinnamon Copper, was named after our great-aunt Cinnamon Sticks. She's sassy, and then some, kind of like my mom. She's plump for her size. Just, don't call her fat. Trust me on this one. She enjoys cooking and helped my mom make dinner for the longest time when my sisters were smaller. Cinnamon also collects some of the most esoteric stuff possible, mostly from Manehatten. 

She got married recently, too. Unicorn. Nice guy. Kind of stuck in the past, but eh, everyone in Canterlot kind of is.  Next is Golden Rose, a dramatic pony if I've ever seen one. She's named after my dad's great-great grandma Rose Briar. Has her hair to match, too, which they think is scary. She can dance and sing, and loves to perform. I always caught her daydreaming at pictures of Manehatten. I know mom would never let her go on her own, so all she can do now is dream. 

Someday, sis. Someday. Normally she's a great conversationalist, but she's going through the typical hormonal imbalances that come with growing up. (Or, as my Grandma Cobalt put it, "she's walking into winter with only her earmuffs"). Then there are the twins, Silver Rope and Platinum Brand. They’re named after my mother’s second great cousins, who were also twins. They both have the same mane and tail colors, but Silver cut her hair shorter so folks wouldn’t mistake her for Platinum. Likes it that way, too. They both love to draw, and enjoy helping with animals in town. 

Platinum has more of a knack for drawing, though. Cutie mark shows it. Silver is jealous as Tartarus, but doesn’t want to admit it.  Finally, there's my youngest sister, Palladia Bells. She’s named after father’s great grandma, Dandy Bell. She's the smallest of us all, and she won't get any bigger. Which she doesn't like. But she's rough and tumble, and is always looking for some new adventure. Give her wings and she’d easily become a renegade adventurer like Daring Do.

If that happened, though, mom would have a heart attack. And I don’t blame her one flipping bit.

And then there's me: Rain Dust. The eldest, and somehow, the only unicorn. Some think that’s weird, but I never really found it weird. There are dozens of unicorns on my father’s side of the family. Figured it was only a matter of time before one of us developed magic. As I said before, I’ve got my mother’s light aqua coat, and my father’s dark velvety mane and tail. The texture is like my mother, but a bit rougher. Frizzier. I blame the heat. The darker streak in my mane is something no one really knows about. My mom thinks it comes from my great grandpa. Dad agreed.

Had I the chance to meet him, I’d ask him how he kept it in place. It falls in my face all the darn time.

Hairpins do nothing.

As for size, I’m on the short side. Ponies and creatures alike confuse me for a school filly. Flattering, sure, but it’s a pain in the flank when I want to get the newest novel and they ask for ID. 

Even had somepony ask me if I lost my mom when I went shopping in Canterlot. 

Still can’t live that down.

. . . And looking through what I’ve written so far, I’m only seeing the ramblings of an embarrassed pony who thinks they’re confessing to some stallion under a tree. 

Figures. 

I’ll wrap this up for now before I embarrass myself any further. 

See you later,